Finite
by Short-Circuited
Summary: This is a one shot request for yahbrahchill on Quizilla. This is a Marcus Flint/OC one shot. No warnings.


**A/N: I hope you enjoy this; I know I did. Please review!**

**Thanks,**

**S.C.**

* * *

No one expected the war to be this disastrous in magnitude as it developed into. They knew the darkness had been growing immensely and that everything went downhill when their leader and head master fell from the Astronomy Tower. Everyone knew this and those that did not believe that the Dark Lord had returned, believed it now. Every person who doubted the Boy Who Lived will not place doubt in him ever again. Every person who gave him a sneer; played a prank; insulted him; and most of all turned their back in his time of need felt ashamed of themselves, and would offer their lives to protect him in order to save the wizarding world.

Especially now as the survivors from the first wave of attacks stood in the Great Hall, tending to the wounded and mourning over the dead. Witches and wizards had lost family members and friends, probably the most devastating being the kind, fun loving, twin of George Weasley , Fred.

Pale green eyes stared back down at the hollow brown ones that were open and void of life like they should be. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had yet to close their son's eyes for fear that it would be an act of acceptance at his death. Ronald, the youngest son currently was being held by his mother, sobbing silently; who could blame him really. George, Petra believed, was incapacitated at the moment, not in his right mind to act accordingly to the situation.

So, Petra, with her wand tightened in her left hand, knelt down to the soiled, stone floor, old, brown boots squelching as she did. She brought her right hand's fingers up to drag them gently down the twin's pallid face, pulling his lids closed as she did. The Gryffindor looked up with a broken smile at the family whom sobbed in various octaves. Her eyes connected with Mrs. Weasley, whom looked as broken as the castle around them.

"There", Petra's voiced cracked and her throat bobbed a bit with the busted sound, "He's merely sleeping, you see?"

She said this as she remembered Luna's words regarding Dobby.

Mrs. Weasley reached over with a grateful hand and patted the girl's legged affectionately; as much as she could in her current state. Petra placed a hand over the elder woman's and squeezed it reassuringly before rising up to tend to the wounded with Madame Pomfrey.

It never occurred to Petra that one day she might be tending to the body of one of her old team members. George was beyond help currently, she was never trained to tend to any psychological damage, only physical. Madame Pomfrey needed to help him, he could go into a state of shock.

It was just as she was approaching the overburdened nurse that she noticed an old companion struggling with the dead weight of a small sixth year. He wouldn't he struggling so much, she knew, if it weren't for his own injuries. Her boots clacked behind her as she made her way slowly to her friend.

"Oliver", she spoke plainly, not a single tone in her voice.

Petra wanted to be happy that she was finally seeing her old captain after four years, but it was kind of hard to in this situation. She was normally a cheerful person, Oliver knew, and even he could tell that this damned war had taken a toll on the happy-go-lucky Gryffindor.

"Petra", he acknowledged her with a nod as she helped him with the lanky, blonde, Gryffindor known as Collin Creevey.

Nothing was said between the two as they maneuvered Collin to the ground on a piece of tattered cloth that served as the morgue. They helped silently when others brought in more of the dead. At one point Petra took her friend, Angelina Johnson's, hand at tenderly drug her over to the still breathing Weasley twin, telling her that someone needed to calm him down before he hurts himself.

When Petra made her way back to the dead area she took note of Oliver slumped over in a broken chair with his head in his hands. She took a deep breath a collapsed to the floor next to the chair and fiddled with her muddled braid. Her dirtied hands added to the mess in her flaxen hair and she could care less at this point.

"So, it's been what, four years Petra", Oliver asked, voice muffled by his hands.

She almost laughed at Wood's attempt at a decent conversation at a time such as this, but nonetheless she replied,

"Yea, four years, and you still look like a bloody wanker."

Petra tried her best to lighten the mood with a playful nudge and smile, though nothing would help the situation. When she noticed that Oliver didn't react she wiped the smile from her face and smiled, resorting to chewing heavily on her chapped, pale lips.

"Yeah, well you aren't necessarily a sight for sore eyes. And you're still wearing those ruddy boots?" Oliver finally looked to her revealing exhausted brown eyes.

Petra crossed her arms and took on challenging aura, "What of it? They're my favorites; you think I'm going to get rid of them?"

Oliver laughed, as much as he could at the moment and wiped some blood from his temple. "Of course not. You've had them for as long as I've known you."

Then the conversation fell into a lull after his last statement. They didn't know what to say. So much has occurred over the past four years and still they had so little to talk about. Or it could be the fact that they didn't want to talk about it. Who would? But as Petra gazed out over the once glorious Great Hall a broken whisper left her chapped lips.

"Oliver. What happened?"

He didn't need to ask what she was talking about; that would be stupid to do in the current state of events. A heavy sigh left the former captain and he rose up to his full sitting height to look out at all the others.

"I don't know, Petra. A lot of things happened. A lot of bad things."

Petra merely nodded, not having a single response to his words. She drew her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on them and busied herself with picking at her fingers' already bloodied and sore skin.

"So", Oliver began, but left it hanging. This caused green eyes to glance up to his brown.

"So", she questioned with a light colored eyebrow cocked.

"You still like Flint?"

The question had caught her off guard, she'd admit, but she'd never show it. Petra lowered head back to her knees with a sigh, one filled with confusion and anger. Her thoughts mirrored the sigh and so did her eyes.

"I- . . . I really don't know. The last time I saw him was when the class of '94 left the Hogwart's Express for the final time. That's also the last time I saw Adrian too."

Oliver lowered his eyes down to the stone floor where her bent down to pick up a piece of rubble and fiddle with it aimlessly. He then asked,

"Really? I thought you and Adrian were close?"

"We were kind of, but only because our mothers were acquaintances. He taught me how to fly, you know?"

"Yeah? I knew your skills came from somewhere." He nudged her with a playful smile, finally feeling in the mood to joke.

"Ha ha, yeah well, you have to admit he was a great player despite the fact he was a Slytherin."

"He was. I will admit. Did he ever cheat at all? Anytime that we played him", he questioned.

Petra shook her head and smiled softly, "You know he died last year?"

Oliver offered her an incredulous look full of confusion and surprise, "What? The one good Slytherin and he dies. What happened?"

"According to my Mum, Marcus happened. Supposedly he's a Death Eater now and when Adrian refused to fall in line like all _good_ Slytherins should the Dark Lord ordered him to be dealt with and so he was."

"And you like this guy?" Oliver scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"Yeah well . . .", she started, not coming up with anything to say.

She felt a comforting hand on her shoulder and she did the only thing she could. Cry silent tears for Adrian. For Fred. For Marcus. For herself.

* * *

It was about a few hours later that Petra noticed that she had fallen asleep from exhaustion along with Oliver. The soft light from the rising sun barely filtered in through the windows and she noticed the crowd of walking wounded and surprisingly some unharmed people making their way outside the castle. By the time she fully regained consciousness the crowd was out of her sight leaving her and Oliver. Petra slowly made her way to her boot clad feet and groaned as she worked out her tightened muscles. She kicked Oliver's foot softly, nudging him awake.

"Oliver", she croaked out. "Wake up; something's going on."

He slowly opened his eyes and sat up to stretch, trying to wake up as fast as possible.

"Come on slow poke. I think there's a confrontation going on!"

She yanked him from the chair, making him wake up with surprise. By the time he noticed what was going on he was tripping out the Great Hall, being pulled by the great force that is Petra Allen. They maneuvered pass the various piles of rubble by jumping, ducking, and dodging in their path towards the courtyard.

By the time they arrived they saw the crowd of their friends burst into joyous cheering as Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, flipped out of Hagrid's arms and sprinted to the right side of the courtyard, away from the Dark Lord. All hell broke loose and it took all Petra and Oliver's speed to keep from getting run over in the trampling feet of the crowd.

They ended up getting separated from one another amidst the chaos that ensued and Petra found herself leaned up against a corridor wall, huffing sporadically. She wiped the sweat from her brow and took a deep breath, trying to calm her throbbing headache.

She couldn't help but ask herself what the bloody hell happened during the last few hours that she had been passed out. If she made it out alive, she was sure she'd hear all about it. For what felt like the trillionth time in last twenty four hours a sigh escaped her chapped lips. At least she had something to look forward to after this was over with.

It was a few moments before she noticed a dark spot out of the corner of her eye, coming at her with a well marked speed. Her head whipped around and she drew her wand from the confines of her boot. Within a split second she flicked her wrist and muttered,

"Alarte Ascendare."

The person was launched into the air without remorse and they fell back to the ground with a force that had yet to be reckoned with. An audible groan left the being as they rose up and tried to regain their footing.

"Expelliarmus", she spoke again, but even before the spell reached the being, it recoiled and was sent back to its caster.

Her wand flipped out of her hand and she gasped, eyes wide. She took a step back towards the wall she was near and she finally focused in fully on her opponent. Her back hit the wall as did her head. She'd know that crooked grin anywhere and those shifty eyes anywhere.

Her opponent growled out, "Colloshoo."

Her feet were then stuck to their current spots on the floor, with her back against the cold stone wall. Petra's eyes narrowed in fury and fear.

"Marcus", she hissed out.

That same endearing, crooked smile widened upon hearing her say his name.

"Hello, Petra. It's been awhile, huh?" Marcus stalked forward, striking a heavy nervousness in her heart with every step, but still that same heart picked up its already rapid pace. She could hear the pounding in her ears.

"Yeah, it has", she croaked out, swallowing to loosen her tightening throat.

Petra tried helplessly to free her glued feet, but to no avail. A whimper left her lips in fear. The sudden sound of Marcus' hand landing heavily next to her head caused her to freeze the jerking of her legs. Pale green eyes stared up into the shaded coal ones in fear and sudden shock.

"How long has it been, Petra? How many years?"

His wand came up to brush away a few fallen strands of her matted, blonde hair from her face. The wand trailed down her neck slowly, its owner's eyes following its path hungrily, licking his lips as he did so. Inwardly, Petra shivered in something that she was not unfamiliar with.

"How many months? Week? How many _lonely_ nights has it been since you last saw me, Petra?"

The Gryffindor in question kept her dry lips shut, choosing to not say anything for fear she might say something she'd regret. Instead she only allowed her tongue to flick out to wet her chronically chapped lips. This movement did not go unnoticed by the Death Eater before her. He growled in approval and trailed the hand next to her head into her dirty hair roughly. He yanked her head back far enough to where her eyes stayed connected with his barely.

"How many nights that you've laid in bed thinking of me Petra", Marcus ground out between clenched teeth.

Petra's breath hitched as her own teeth clamped down onto her lower lip, chewing it to a state of bleeding. She wouldn't say anything, for she knew everything he said was true. And after a few more moments of silence on her part, Marcus smirked darkly,

"What? You have nothing to say? You always used to have such loose lips, Petra."

He punctuated his point by trailing the wand around her now pale, tight lips that threatened to burst open. She brought her hands up to try and push him away for his proximity was just too close for her liking in the situation. At least that's what her mind felt; her heart was singing a different tune though.

"Maybe I should fix your little problem. . ."

His lips collided roughly with hers, harshly smothering the tight flesh. The hand in her messy hair tightened to a point of pain that brought tears to her pallid eyes. Her hands struggled to push him away, but alas she wasn't strong enough, or her body just didn't want to push away (more than likely the latter).

After storing his wand in his pants pocket, his newly freed hand came up to wrap around her neck, forcing her mouth closer to his own. His crooked teeth nipped harshly at her closed lips, trying to gain access to her warm cavern.

After a minute of no relenting on her part he broke away, only pulling back slightly, just enough to meet her eyes.

"I will make you open up to me, Petra", he leaned pass her cheek to allow his lips to run up the shell of her ear, "And you will enjoy it."

Then he gave a sudden cruel yank to her hair, eliciting a yelp from her now open lips. The Slytherin took this opportunity to plunder her now open mouth, taking in her essence and wrapping both hands around either side of her head.

Petra finally reciprocated and wrapped her arms around his torso, holding him to her body roughly, tangling her hands into the back of his dark clothes. She fought him back with her teeth, lips, and tongue; never relenting in her own attack and Marcus neither.

"_Finally_", she thought.

* * *

A pair of soft brown eyes peered around the corner at the end of the corridor, a look of heart break on their owner's features. A large hand ran through short brown hair followed by a sigh from the being. Oliver Wood stared at the scene before him, watching as his long time crush locked lips with his long time enemy.

Guess the nice guys _do_ always finish last.


End file.
